


Ghosts at Midnight

by strangeallure



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: Set after the conversation between Michael and Ash in 1x14 "The War Without, The War Within".Deep down, she knew that he would understand why she was here, what she needed from him. She hoped that it wasn’t just guilt that would make him give it to her, but she would take it either way.





	Ghosts at Midnight

She was restless, so restless. Skin prickling with it, muscles shifting.

Meditation didn’t help, and part of her didn’t want it to. She knew the one thing that would, knew it in her bones.

When his doors slid open, he was in his night clothes, and thank heavens for that. She didn’t want to deal with those overalls, needed quick access to every part of him she wanted to reach.

She didn’t seem to have woken him, even though his quarters were dark, and that suited her just fine. She wanted him alert, attuned to her needs, not drowsy with sleep.

“Michael,” he started, surprise and so much more in his voice, his face. All the things she didn’t want to deal with.

She put three fingers over his mouth, his beautiful mouth. “Shhh.” She didn’t want to talk, couldn’t. Didn’t want to think, to hear questions she couldn’t answer.

Deep down, she knew that he would understand why she was here, what she needed from him. She hoped that it wasn’t just guilt that would make him give it to her, but she would take it either way.

She gripped his neck tight, one hand sliding further into his hair, clasping at the back of his head, and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. His lips were open, yielding under hers, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She bit at him, mashed their mouths together and pushed her tongue in deep.

He caught on quickly, framing her face with his strong hands, keeping her in place to give as good as he got. Wet and hot and greedy, making sounds grow deep down in her throat, her body arching up into him, taut as a bow. 

She kept eating at his mouth, not letting up as she walked him to the bed and pushed him down. He lay there, legs bent over the mattress and arms outstretched, beckoning her. His chest moved heavily under his soft grey shirt, the outline of an erection already visible through his sweatpants.

She pushed off her pants and underwear, quick and artless, and straddled him.

His hair looked silky and there was more than just heat in his gaze. She squeezed her eyes shut, diving down to fuse their mouths together again. She didn’t want to see, just feel. She bore down into his lap and he thrust up in turn, making her gasp, clench around nothing. Her hands pushed up his shirt and grabbed at his waist, the jut of his hipbones delicious beneath her thumbs. His skin was so hot to the touch, the small mound of his belly so soft, the trail of hairs starting at his bellybutton begging her to go lower.

She had no time to waste and her hands fumbled with his pants to free his arousal. She curled her fingers around him, grip firm, maybe too much. She needed to feel him, needed to feel the weight of him, his pulse against her palm. So close to the heat throbbing low in her belly.

This was just for her, she thought, possessive. He was hard for her, ready for her, wanted her. No one else. No one.

His hands were splayed over her hips, kneading her bare flesh, and it was so good, got even better when one hand snaked between her thighs, finding her wet. It turned him on, she knew, felt it when he grew even harder in her hand, hips bucking up.

It wasn’t enough. She wanted to stake her claim. By day, she needed to let him go, but right now she needed him all to herself. Make him hers, so he could never belong to anyone else.

She lifted herself up, positioned him at her opening, and slid down on an exhale. Her body wasn’t used to being breached like this, invaded like this. It was too fast and it hurt. Just right. Pain and pleasure flooding her nervous system.

She pawed at his shirt and got it off of him. A little light streamed through the windows, and she could see the warm glow of his skin. Her hands ran over his upper arms and his chest, and she willed herself not to look into his eyes. They had barely ever done this, yet it seemed achingly familiar. He felt smooth and warm, soft flesh over lean muscle, the hairs on his chest only coarse in contrast. All laid out for her to touch, to taste, do with as she wished. The thought opened something up inside her, made her want to melt against him and-

She shut the feeling down. That wasn’t what she was here for, wasn’t something she could bear.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she smiled, pleased, when a grunt fell from his lips. She wanted him to feel it. She set a swift rhythm with her hips, the pain of feeling too full, stretched too tight, mixing with and turning into pleasure.

Sweat gathered at the small of her back, at her temples, between her breasts, but it did nothing to cool her down. Her shirt seemed to trap the heat around her body, and the rub of fabric against her nipples, moving with each up-and-down, up-and-down, became agonizing. 

She slowed down for a moment and tugged the shirt off quickly. Instantly, his hands closed over both breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples, already hard. His grip was firm, yet with something gentle about it. She pushed against his fingers, wanting him to increase the pressure, move faster, be rougher with her. She didn’t want to feel cared for, needed something more primal.

She clawed at his chest, but it was too yielding, too human. A part of her wanted to hurt him, but it shouldn’t be this easy. She still remembered the feel of the torchbearer’s armor from their fight on T’Kuvma’s ship. Cool, supple leather bent into unforgiving shapes. A desperate, cowardly move her only way out of his lethal embrace.

Why couldn’t he be more like that? Everything would be so much simpler.

She lowered her mouth down to his collarbone, nibbling at it, tasting his skin, his sweat, something real. Soon she was biting at him, too, sucking in a taste that wasn’t quite copper. When she pulled away, a bruise was already starting to form. She smiled, proud, and for a moment she hoped that someone would see, would know that he had been marked.

With her guard down like that, she finally looked at his face. His head was bent back, eyes closed, white teeth biting his lower lip. Her insides tightened with need, with how much she wanted him.

Then he opened his eyes, slow as molasses, and she couldn’t look away. The connection was instantaneous, crackling with energy. She knew this gaze now heavy on her, hypnotizing, knew it so well it hurt.

She felt his fingers dig into her hips, forcing his own rhythm on her. It was slow and deep, timed with his thrusts for maximum impact. Their bodies made wet, filthy sounds, and a heavy current buzzed through her. Was this what she had come here for? She didn’t know anymore.

She tried to move faster, grabbing at his arms for purchase. She felt his muscles work under his sweat-slick skin as he sped up the pace, moving her on him, manhandling her. Her eyes slid shut and she was thankful for it, wanting to lose herself in sensation.

Soon, they were moving at a punishing rhythm, loud slaps of skin and heavy panted breaths filling the air. Her thighs were burning with exertion and she was aching inside, everything too much and still not quite enough.

He sensed what she needed in a way he shouldn’t, a way she knew he would, and canted her hips, giving her more friction right where she craved it. Her hands found his chest, pushing against it, driving herself into his thrusts with just a little more force, a little more leverage.

And then her world fractured. The blackness behind her eyelids exploded into white light and her throat released a long, primal sound. Her body grew slack, sagging against him, sweaty and spent.

She could feel him thrust up into her a few more times, her mind still hazy, not yet able to content with reality. Distantly, she registered the feeling of his teeth on her skin as he bit his climax into her shoulder. Good, she thought, too drowsy to question the reason behind it.

His arms moved around her, holding her close to his chest, his mouth pressing against her neck. She inhaled deeply, taking in the heady mixture of spice and sweat and what they had done. He was solid beneath her, pleasantly warm even as she herself began to cool down.

She felt comfortable, muscles loose and endorphins running through her system. No longer restless.

Which, she realized with a jolt, was exactly why she had come here in the first place.

So stupid, she chided herself, reckless.

She tensed, quickly got up, off of him, and scrambled to get her clothes.

He looked on but didn’t try to stop her. 

His expression was … wistful, maybe. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it.

When she was dressed again, he reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

“This can’t mean anything,” she said, words coming out brittle.

Back in her own bed, she wrapped the sheets around herself, burying her nose under the fabric, taking deep breaths as she drifted towards sleep. His smell on her, _their_ smell, soothed her, and she wasn’t ready to examine the reason why.

She would shower in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

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